Vagina monologue

Last night - I'm sorry, but I really feel this has to be chronicled somewhere - we were in the shower, our hands covered in blood, fishing around in your vagina for your tampon, which we thought had somehow got sucked too far inside and lost. I thought I'd identified it, this mass I could circle with my finger, but it resisted all attempts to gently pull it away from your vaginal wall. In retrospect it was a damn irresponsible thing of me to suggest we sterilize some salad tongs and make a go of it, especially since we still don't know what it was exactly we found in there that wasn't your tampon, and our best guess is your womb. From now on I promise to refer all such matters to a licensed OBGYN.

After that, needless to say, neither of us were feeling very romantic or sexy, so we called off the sex we'd planned as a climax (ha) to our day together. I don't think either of us minded, except that we both felt this vague sense of guilt and worry we get whenever we go a while without sex; we're both scared of slipping into the habit of a sexless marriage or something close to it.

Of course, we weren't really feeling like sex before our crisis either, were we? I felt like hell and you didn't know what to do about it. More than that, your period meant you weren't too emotionally stable. I said at the time it was a powder keg of a situation.

I also said, in the shower when we were holding each other after we were finally convinced there wasn't in fact any tampon inside of you, that I was also sure there was something better I could have done to defuse it. You'd think that something would be easy to identify since the problem was I wasn't doing anything at all, only lying there and wishing I could go to sleep. Acutely aware of your expectations as I was then, I couldn't bring myself to either meet or dismiss them.

I'd like to write that I'm tempted (but I'm not - you understand?) to write "We woke up early and bone-tired, spent the entire day together, and I ran out of energy for you a few hours short. You wanted more, but I didn't have it for you. I was done." That sounds like a cop-out. Surely I could have plowed on.

But plowing on through conversations with customers, Reese, etc. is easy to do. In Reese's case you just make the assorted noises that allows him to continue what is basically an extended monologue. In the case of customers, they are asking the questions, driving the entire conversation, and you are answering. In the case of strangers, it's a matter of jabbering, niceties, ritual language. It's a very different thing from the demand to "talk to me, about anything."

To say nothing of "Make love to me." The last time we did, I had some trouble keeping my erection as hard for the entirety of the session, as you yourself noticed. It was unlikely this night was going to go any better, me feeling as I did, so I was definitely not looking forward to it.

There are ways to force yourself, of course. Fantasizing in your head.

What's funny is when I'm trying to do this as we have sex and then you say, "Talk (dirty) to me."

Anyway, I still don't know what I should have done. Maybe just have taken that nap before we we went to lunch and the library.